


Make of Our Hands One Hand

by JustineDelarge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineDelarge/pseuds/JustineDelarge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sam gets lost watching Dean's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make of Our Hands One Hand

Sometimes when Dean’s driving down yet another curving two-lane road, trees whipping past, the white lines in the center shooting  beneath them in a hypnotic rhythm, Sam gets lost watching Dean’s hands. Those strong, battle-scarred fingers that have always been the source of whatever love and comfort Sam has ever known. 

Like when he was little and got sick, Dad would tell Dean to give Sam some aspirin as he headed out the door on yet another…whatever. And Sam would cry because he hated swallowing pills. They usually got caught in his throat and he thought he would choke. So Dean would crush the aspirin into powder using the bottom of a jelly jar, his fingers wrapped around the glass, strong hands pressing down, and then sweep the white dust onto a piece of bread spread with strawberry jam—Sam’s all-time favorite—and mix it together with his fingertips. He would hold the bread and feed it to Sam, bite by bite. Sam would eat it, despite the faint bitterness. And then he would feel better. And he would curl up against Dean on the couch. Dean knew better than to touch Sam’s bare skin when he was sick because it got so sensitive, just a brush of his hand would hurt. So he would rest his hand steady on Sam’s shoulder, over the blanket, and hold him close until Sam fell asleep.

Dean’s hands. Rough now, marked with calluses, burns and scars, but there was nothing on this Earth or anyplace else Sam would rather have touch him. Now, of course, Dean’s hands didn’t crush aspirin into dust. Sam had learned how to swallow his medicine. Dean’s hands now pressed against Sam’s flesh, checking for broken bones. His fingers skimmed across Sam’s skin, checking the edges of healing cuts to sense the unnatural heat that indicated infection.

Wrapped around Sam’s cock, hard between their bellies.

Twisted and pressed deeper inside Sam, claiming him, wrenching cry after cry out of him.

Brushed Sam’s hair out of his face as Sam, flushed and helpless, came beneath Dean.

Held Sam’s face still as Dean, flushed and helpless, came inside Sam, eyes locked onto Sam’s, not losing sight of him for a second.

Ghosted across his lips almost too gently to feel, reverently. Like a benediction.

Interlaced with Sam’s hand as they drifted off.

Rested on Sam’s chest as they slept intertwined, over Sam’s tattoo.  
  
Over his heart.

 


End file.
